“Yes,” he said in a low voice, “but I don’t think you can help me just now, Mrs. Lester. Besides, I don’t think that I want any help. As you say, we’re all a little strained just now; the weather, I suppose.” He paused and then went on: “Only, you don’t know what it is to me to have you for a friend. I’ve thought a good deal about it these last few days. I’ve not been a man of very many friends, women especially little.” “Life,” she said, “is so difficult.” She liked to talk about life in the abstract; she was not a clever woman and she never pretended to keep pace with her husband in all his ideas, but, after all, it was something to be able to talk about life at all—if one said that it was “queer” or “difficult” or “odd” there was a kind of atmosphere. She said it again; “Life is so difficult . . . one really doesn’t know.” “I had never known,” he answered, looking steadily in front of him, “until these last weeks how difficult it was. You’ve made it that, you know.” She broke in nervously, “Oh, surely, Mr. Maradick.” She was suddenly frightened of him. She thought she had never seen anyone so strong and fierce. She could see the veins stand out on the back of his hands and the great curve of his arm as he leant forward. “Yes,” he went on roughly, “I’m not fooling. I’d never seen what life was before. These last weeks, you and other things have shown me. I thought it was life just going on in an office, making money, dining at home, sleeping. Rot! That’s not life. But now! now! I know. I was forty. I thought life was over. Rot! life’s beginning. I don’t care what happens, I’m going to take it. I’m not going to miss it again. Do you see? I’m not going to miss it again. A man’s a fool if he misses it twice.” He was speaking like a drunken man. He stumbled over his words; he turned round and faced her. He saw the ribbon under her chin rise and fall with her breathing. She was looking frightened, staring at him like a startled animal. He saw her dress in a blue mist against the golden path and the green trees, and out of it her face rose white and pink and a little dark under the eyes and then shadows under the sweeping hat. He began to breathe like a man who has been running. She put out her hand with a gesture as though she would defend herself, and gave a little cry as he suddenly seized and crushed it in his. He bent towards her, bending his eyes upon her. “No, it’s rot, missing it again. My wife never cared for me; she’s never cared. Nobody’s cared, and I’ve been a fool not to step out and take things. It isn’t any use just to wait, I see that now. And now we’re here, you and I. Just you and I. Isn’t it funny? I’m not going to make love to you. That’s rot, there isn’t time. But I’ve got you; I’m strong!”